


Hands, Shoulders, Knees, and...Toes?

by McGlamorous



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Polyamory implied, SS is panromantic, Short One Shot, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 18:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11950587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/McGlamorous/pseuds/McGlamorous
Summary: Just a few snippets of my SS's life and how they show their love to their companions.





	Hands, Shoulders, Knees, and...Toes?

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting in my docs for a while, finally felt brave enough to share. I might do a more in depth story about my SS, but that's still in the air. Hope you enjoy!

Anyone can tell you that there’s a special something that opens their heart to others, for some, it’s a gift, for others: a few special words. For me, it was always a touch. Nothing special, just a touch anywhere, the cheek, the hair, so long as it came with the intent to become something more. 

With Nate, it had been his knee. We were young and flirty, unsure if the future held something more for us. After a movie one day, we were sitting in a restaurant, laughing and sharing a Nuka-Cola. When we went to leave, Nate paused, a grimace on his face as he rubbed his leg. “Sorry, darlin’. My knee’s been killing me recently.”

He’d mentioned once that he had been run off the road while on his bike and fell into a ditch, tearing a few muscles in his leg. It hurt sometimes when he walked for a long time or if there was a storm brewing. I knelt in front of him, unbending his leg a bit, and massaged behind his knee. He sighed in relief, his head lulling to the side, his eyes closed. 

“Better?” I said after a few minutes, not pausing my ministrations. He nodded, finally opening his eyes. I smiled at him.

His hand lifted from his side and came to rest in my hair. He ran his fingers through the strands, then cupped my cheek. “Thanks, love. Let’s get going.”

He helped me stand and I didn’t let go of his hand as we walked out, curling around his arm and resting my head on his shoulder. 

It was a nurturing touch, one I repeated whenever a storm rolled into town, whenever he had to run errands for the better half of a day. When he came home from the war, my first instinct wasn’t to kiss him, to run into his arms and never let him go, but to sit him down and rub the tension out of his knee. He cried, relieved he was home, relieved I was still here for him, that I still loved him, and I’m sure he was relieved someone finally thought to take care of his leg.

* * *

 

When Shaun came into our lives, Nate was delighted; I was depressed. I was a small woman and had to have a c-section in order to even have a child. My hormones were everywhere, and I didn’t feel like Shaun would be safe around me. I let Codsworth and Nate take care of him because I felt I could not. 

Until one day I was left alone with him. Nate had run to the store, leaving Shaun with Codsworth. The butler left Shaun sleeping in his crib and went to power wash the house, as he did at the end of every month. 

I could hear him outside working, the water hitting different walls as he moved. The issue is, so did Shaun. As I settled on the couch with my favorite book, Shaun began to cry. I looked to my dog, snoozing away in her cage, with a look of desperation. She didn't feel the change in my emotions or else didn't care enough to wake up from her nap. Shaun continued to wail in his room, a white noise I couldn't ignore. 

I went into his room, almost a stranger to him, and hovered near his crib. “um...Hush hush?” I said, going for soothing but my voice was too high-strung to get it right. Shaun stopped long enough to take a breath and began again. I panicked, trying to tempt him into silence with some of his toys, the rocket ship mobile, a teddy bear that was sitting on the floor, even by rocking his crib. Nothing worked. Finally, I noticed that he was wriggling his arms out of his blanket. Codsworth might have swaddled him too tightly. I unwrapped the blanket from around him, setting it to the side. He was still crying, though several octaves lower. I hummed quietly, something I’d heard Nate do several times...though he wasn’t quite good at it. 

Little tears ran down Shaun’s cheeks but he’d stopped wailing. He sniffled occasionally, almost a threat to start again if I didn’t do something else to entertain him. I looked around desperately. 

He let out a giggle.

I looked down, my hand had apparently brushed against his little feet and tickled him.  _ Huh. _

I lightly ran my finger across his toes, eliciting another giggle and a kick to the hand. I smiled at his laugh, giving him a moment to catch his breath before doing it again. 

Several minutes later there was a laugh from behind me as well. I turned to see Nate leaning against the doorframe, smiling at us.

* * *

 

Nick was very careful about his hands. He was deliberate with their movements, and when he wasn’t holding something they were often tucked away either in his coat or pant pockets. 

I was liberal with touches, with words, with affection. I bumped our shoulders or hips together whenever we were close enough to do so or touched his arm whenever I needed his attention. I gave him a kiss on his mostly intact cheek before I went to sleep every night. I also tried to hold his hand, either one to be honest, just like the action no matter if they’re a friend or lover, ghoul, synth, or human. But his hands fascinated me. He has touched me with the synthetic one several times during our travels, but only when absolutely necessary. To check wounds, to help me to higher ground, to pull me to lower ground, to push me towards shelter. He rarely touched me with his skeletal hand, afraid I might get hurt around the sharper edges, but those rare occasions were a blessing. It was usually when he thought I was asleep, he would run the metal hand through my hair, combing out knots that my brush had missed. I cherished every moment he let his guard down.

But anytime I reached out to grab either one, Nick pulled away. I decided to confront him about it when he was having trouble with his exposed one, the pinky finger was catching and he couldn’t figure out how to make it stop. I wanted to help, as I usually did, and reached for his hand.

He jerked back, curling his metal hand to his chest, “It’s alright, darlin’ I’ve got it.”

I’d had enough, “Nick, I’ve had my hands  _ inside _ your neck and chest. I think I can manage your  _ hand _ ,” I snapped. 

Nick had the decency to look ashamed at that, looking at the ground, his metal hand clenching and unclenching. “I’m sure you can, doll, but-”

“Please,” I interrupted. “Please tell me this grand explanation as to why you don’t trust me enough to touch your hands.” I gave him an expectant look, he opened his mouth, “And if your excuse involves some bullshit insecurity then you need to shut up and give me your damn hand.” I held out my own.

He stared at me, his mouth open. He snapped his jaw shut and gave me an intense look, studying my face. We stayed like this for several minutes, him studying, me waiting, when he finally looked away. Nick’s grip loosened around his metal hand. “It’s not a lack of trust…”

“Then please...let me help.”

Nick finally dropped his hand in mine. A wave of relief washed through me. I looked it over, focusing on the joints of his pinky. It was in its track, but there seemed to be something underneath the metal, creating a sort of friction that would stop the joint from working. “I think...I found the problem…” I said slowly, my hand hovering over his hand. “Let me see your screwdriver?” I asked, holding out my free hand. He placed it on my palm in seconds, still not looking at me. “Thanks…” I was never one to tinker with things, but when it came to Nick I could see the appeal. Times like this, when I had to disassemble some part of him and put it back together? I always felt accomplished when he started working again. “Still trust me?” I asked, the screwdriver in place to loosen up the joint giving him problems. I’d have to take this screw out and clean the joint then put it back together. He nodded, anxious as he always was when I tinkered with him. “I know it’s not the best of feelings, being taken apart, but I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Take your time, doll. Don’t mind this ol’ bot none.” He said, his voice tight. He cleared his throat, a nervous habit he picked up from the Nick of old. 

I nodded. I took my time unscrewing the joint, not wanting to lose any piece of him and leave him without a finger. When it was loose enough, I reached into the satchel on my hip for a q-tip or toothpick, something small that could reach in there and clean the joint out. He’d helped pull me up a ledge not too long ago, so some dirt must have got in and was causing him some problems. “You need to be more careful with this hand, Nick. Why not use it to lift me and avoid getting dirt in all these hard to clean areas?”

There was silence from my companion, so I continued to clean the hand. When I screwed the joint back into place, I held his wrist. “Alright, try it now.”

Nick let out a sigh of relief when everything moved smoothly. “Thanks, doll.”

I smiled, giving his hand another once over for any other problems, “of course…” I ran my thumb across the back of his hand, admiring the smoothness of the exposed metal. I hummed appreciatively. 

“Ah...you’re gonna make this ol’ bot blush if you keep all that up…” he replied, his breath catching as I ran my fingers along his own. He cleared his throat again.

“Maybe that’s my goal,” I teased. I fit my hand against his own, keeping my grip loose now, allowing him to pull away if he wanted. He stayed. “See? Not so bad holding my hand, is it?”

Nick shook his head, looking at me with wonder in the lines of his face. If he could blush I’m sure he’d be doing so now. “Don’t see why you’re so insistent in touchin’ that cold metal. Can’t be pleasant…”

I laughed, keeping my voice low, “Nick…” I reached for his other hand slowly, giving him time to stop me. He didn’t. I touched the back of his hand, then pulled it closer. “I don’t care about any of that. Have I ever shied away from you?”

He paused, searching his memory. “No.”

“Then why would I start now?” 

He looked down at our joined hands. I’d started cradling his in mine at some point, rubbing my thumb across the backs of his hands, marveling at the different textures. He seemed to understand something in the gesture, a grin spreading on his face. He looked into my eyes, “Well. Guess I can’t beat logic like that, now can I?”

I leaned forward.

* * *

 

It was nice having Hancock around. While I tried to keep the three of us together, sometimes Nick had to run back to Diamond City to check in at the office or ended up having to do a case solo, so to have Hancock ready and more importantly, willing to travel alone with me was a relief. He was very different than Nick, talkative where Nick was reserved, playful whereas Nick was…

Well, I’m not sure what to call him actually.  It was all still new to him, being wanted...being loved. After years of only knowing about it from past Nick, he felt out of his depth when the same affection was being shown to himself, Nick the synth. He shared my affections, he bantered back, but it was always cautious as if he’s only doing it to humor me.

Hancock, on the other hand, did it to humor himself and allowed for a back-and-forth to go on throughout our travels. He was flirty, too, as I was. He made fun of me before helping me out of tight situations, he complained about my weight before pulling me up with ease. 

He was currently rummaging through a box at the other end of the room. He seemed annoyed, probably because I was, in his words: ‘lookin’ for random shit all the damn time,’ but he was happy. Happy to be out on the road, happy to get some alone time with me, most of all he was happy about the attention that meant.

I was beginning to realize that he was almost  _ hungry _ for affection. I was openly affectionate towards friends, and now that he’d spent some time with me, after all the little touches and kind words, he was  _ thriving _ .

“Found your damn light bulb, can we get outta here yet?” He threw it across the room, overshooting my waiting hand. We watched as Dogmeat stood on his back paws and caught it gently in his mouth.

“Such a good boy!” I cried, patting my knee so that he came to me. He dropped the bulb in my waiting hand as I scratched behind his ear with the other. “Thank you, darling.” I gave him a kiss on his nose and stood up. Hancock was hovering nearby, his arms crossed, his foot tapping impatiently.

“What about me? I found the damn thing…” he sulked, his tone teasing.

I cooed at him as I had with Shaun all those years ago, “Such a good boy, Hancock.” I ran my hand up his arm and squeezed his shoulder, “thanks, sweetheart.”

Hancock practically melted under my hand. I tilted my head, similar to Dogmeat whenever he caught a new scent.

“What?” He mumbled, getting defensive. When I squeezed his shoulder again he tried to step away, “stop that,” he growled. 

I moved with him, guiding him to a chair nearby, “Sit.” 

Hancock dropped into the chair and gave me a sharp look. He hated how quickly I’d wrapped him around my finger. “Good boy…” I kept my hand on his shoulder so he wouldn’t get up, moving to stand behind him.

“The hell are you doi-” his protest was lost in a low groan. 

I laughed quietly, digging my palm into his shoulder blades. “Shhh…” I murmured, “We can spare a few minutes…”

He nodded for me to continue, so I did. For several minutes. As I worked my way down his back, I realized that this sort of gesture would still be seen as friendly for Hancock. He had seen me do something similar a few weeks back to McCready, though I’d been less thorough, and made more jokes. Hancock, who took any sort of affection he could, would be fine with things being like this, occasional touches and kind words. To Hancock, this was a symbol of friendship, whereas something like this would clue Nick into my true intentions: to become  _ more _ . 

For everyone else, it had to be a touch: to the hands, the knee, the toes…

Of course, Hancock would have to be different. Because everything he did, everything he was, everything he stood for was different from everyone else. Everyone else had understood, and maybe Hancock did too but chose to ignore it. For him to accept love, I would have to take it just a step further. I laughed suddenly, too loud in the quiet room. Hancock sat up quickly, turning to see my face. “What?” He barked.

I smiled at him, nothing but affection in my eyes, in my words, “Have you ever thought of us as...more than friends?”


End file.
